


our bedroom after the war

by water_poet



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hook-Up, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, the reincarnation is kinda implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 08:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_poet/pseuds/water_poet
Summary: As he looks out the window, he realizes nothing will ever be the same.





	our bedroom after the war

**Author's Note:**

> So this movie did the impossible in making me care about both a WW2 movie AND Harry Styles  
> Kudos, Dunkirk  
> Also, of course I found something to ship  
> HOORAH FOR HISTORICAL GAYS

He's alive and that in and of itself is enough of a miracle.  
  
The hard seats of the train they're forced to board are like clouds, and he barely gets a glimpse of Alex's bright green eyes before sleep overtakes him.  
  
Everything hurts, but he's alive.  
  
His dreams are full of uneasy silence, distant echoes, and flashes of red and white. One minute he'll be buried beneath the sand, grit pouring into his mouth and nose, and the next he'll be drowning under the waves, with salt stinging his eyes.  
  
He wakes to a train whistle, and realizes there's tear tracks across his cheeks.  
  
He wipes them away hastily, his eyes meeting Alex's. There's a moment of silence, an understanding that they're connected by the horrors they've endured.  
  
There's shouting outside the train, but it sounds fuzzy in Tommy's ears. He hopes he's not going deaf.  
  
Better deaf than dead, he supposes.  
  
Alex opens the window, and the noise gets louder. They both flinch, muscles tensing as they're back on that beach for one terrifying second.  
  
But there are no bombs or bullets. There's cheering crowds and clapping children. There's fruit and pastries and beer being handed up through the window, sending triumphant yells through the train.  
  
Tommy can't bring himself to eat, but seeing Alex's face light up the way it does fills the emptiness inside him just as well.  
  
They both dismount among cheering crowds and soldier. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the heavy scent of cheap beer. Tommy wants to disappear, to close his eyes and wish himself away to somewhere small and silent.  
  
He realizes he's picturing a coffin and nearly throws up the bite of bread Alex had forced him to eat.  
  
Someone grips his arm and he nearly throttles them.  
  
"Christ, Tommy, wouldja calm down?" Alex hisses, almost angrily. He pulls Tommy closer to himself and slips his hand down so he's holding the cuff of his too long jacket.  
  
Tommy hates himself for thinking they might hold hands.

* * *

The town is overflowing with soldiers, and there's nothing Alex wants more than to join in.  
  
"Survived, didn't we? Deserve a pint or two, no?" he'd asked loudly. His curious little companion had mumbled an indistinguishable reply, but had not retreated when they stumbled into the first pub with empty seats.  
  
The liquor burns, and Alex likes it.  
  
The smoke, the cheers, and the booze. All reminders he's alive.  
  
His favorite reminder is Tommy's constant grip on his coat, but he's not about to admit that to himself.  
  
The boy (he's hardly younger than Alex himself, but his face is so gentle he can't help but call him such) looks as uncomfortable as anyone could. He sits on the stool next to Alex, ordering nothing and meeting no one's eyes.  
  
"Oi, lose your voice across the channel?" Alex teases, the alcohol thick on his lips.  
  
Tommy smiles weakly and Alex isn't sure how he feels.  
  
"No. Just never been one for parties, I s'pose" he says softly.  
  
Alex laughs. "Good thing you've got a date!"  
  
His tone is teasing, but they both pause uncomfortably for a moments.  
  
Alex's heart is in his throat and he swallows it back down, noticing how Tommy's eyes follow his throat.  
  
Tommy licks his lips and Alex can't fucking breathe.  
  
Just before the silence is too long, someone jostles Alex's shoulder, crooning something crude but good-natured, and everything shifts back to the way it's supposed to be.  
  
Alex turns his back and Tommy pulls his hand away from his coat, burying it in his pocket.  
  
The other feels the absence and pretends not to notice.  
  
At least, Tommy hopes he's pretending.  
  
The bartender, finally fed up with Tommy's face driving away his clients, slides the boy a drink with a gruff mumble about it being on the house.  
  
Tommy wants to decline. He's never been one for drinking, especially not when his stomach won't stop churning.  
  
But he drinks, forcing the bitter liquid down his throat and trying to wipe everything else away.  
  
It doesn't help.  
  
Now all he can see is Alex. Alex's hair, his smile, his eyes. Alex, Alex, Alex.  
  
Tommy orders another drink, hoping this one will reverse the effects of the first.  
  
Alex watches his companion (they're sure as hell not friends, but companion doesn't seem right, either) order several drinks, even as his eyes glaze over and his cheeks get ruddy.  
  
He looks rather agreeable like this, but Alex hopes its the alcohol talking.  
  
He doesn't realize he's been staring until the soldier on his left punches his arm with a raucous laugh.  
  
"Quite a pretty boy you got there, eh?" he wheezes, drops of amber glistening on his wispy excuse of a mustache. "You two need some privacy?" he adds, looking disgustingly smug as the surrounding soldiers laugh.  
  
Alex glances back at Tommy. The boy's staring into his drink, red faced and distant. He can't tell if he's heard.  
  
Part of him hopes he has.  
  
Pretty boy, indeed.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he snaps, upper lip curling into a snarl.  
  
"Nothing" the man hiccups. "Poof" he adds, mockingly under his breath but loud enough for everyone in the near vicinity to hear. His posse laughs again, and Alex stand abruptly.  
  
Tommy hears the stool scrape against the floor but doesn't move. He doesn't want to get involved.  
  
The mustached soldier's taunt repeats as Alex stands, and Tommy rethinks his decision.  
  
He wobbles to his feet, suddenly lightheaded.  
  
Alex grabs his arm, and he slumps against the solid form.  
  
They're jeering again, but it's too fuzzy to make out.  
  
"C'mon, Tommy. We're leaving"  
  
Alex's voice is loud and clear, but suddenly the taunts are, too.  
  
"Need a room, poofs?"  
  
"Been too long without a bird, eh?"  
  
Alex's grip on Tommy's arm tightens, snapping the latter sober for just a moment.  
  
"Fuck you" Alex spits out, only to be treated to sounds of mocking fright.  
  
"Tommy, let's go" Alex says.  
  
Another soldier, bald and ratty looking, suddenly steps forward and swings.  
  
Alex ducks and the blow hits Tommy across the nose.  
  
There's no crack (thank god), but blood starts to spew forth.  
  
Tommy sees green eyes flash, and he knows if he doesn't do something, the next morning will be all dried blood and regret.  
  
"Alex... Come on, you bloody idiot, they're not worth it" he mumbles, tugging the taller soldier away.  
  
Over the taunts, now of nearly the entire bar, he hears Alex.  
  
"You are"

* * *

The motel they find is rank and ancient, but there's a bed and plumbing, and that's all the luxury they need.  
  
"Bloody hurts" Tommy whines, wrinkling his nose again and again.  
  
"Then stop moving it, you git. I said I'm sorry about it" Alex grumbles. He hasn't met Tommy's eyes since they left the bar, and Tommy's starting to wonder if it was something he'd said.  
  
"Sorry doesn't make it stop bleeding" he replies. "Still hurts like hell, too"  
  
"If you keep complaining, I'll break it for you too" Alex says, almost calmly. He sits heavily next to Tommy on the bed on tugs off his boots.  
  
He hums something familiar, but Tommy doesn't feel like asking.  
  
That's saying something, considering all the other things he feels like doing.  
  
Alex _finally_  meets his eye and grins. "You alright, mate?"  
  
Tommy blinks.  
  
"Not really" comes the honest reply.  
  
Alex sighs. "Me neither. 'Spect we'll never really be alright, huh?"  
  
Tommy shrugs, but Alex is right.  
  
They'll never be completely whole again. Part of them is still on that beach, broken like the bodies being washed away, bitter like the briny sea.  
  
Without realizing it, their hands curl together as they sit there thinking. If one notices the other, he doesn't say anything.  
  
Alex tightens his grip and Tommy lets out a little gasp, faint in the back of his throat.  
  
He's not sure which heartbeat is which, or even if they're different at all.  
  
Tommy glances up and his eyes are the sea and the sky all at once.  
  
Alex wants to laugh at himself for being a fool, for loving this boy he's known all of seven days and barely spoken with. This boy, who he threatened to throw to the Nazis to die, shot like a wild animal.  
  
"I'm sorry" he whispers.  
  
Nothing more is said about the past, but Tommy knows.  
  
"It's war, Alex"  
  
Neither believe the certainty in his words, but Alex smiles softly and Tommy knows he doesn't need to say anything more.  
  
"You deserve better"  
  
Alex doesn't know if Tommy's talking about the war or his own company, but either way Alex is going to prove him wrong.  
  
Alex deserves a war.  
  
He deserves a bullet between his eyes or lungs full of saltwater, but never in a million years does he deserve that pale boy with eyes like the ocean and a frustratingly perfect smile.  
  
Tommy thinks the same, and they can sense it.  
  
They move closer and Alex spits out the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
"You saved my life. I tried to kill you" Alex manages, hoping his words will do enough to push Tommy away. He bites his lip, studying the round, pale face looking into his.  
  
A shock runs through him when those ocean eyes dart down for a split second.  
  
Tommy licks his dry lips.  
  
"You're killing me now, mate" he says, in a voice that can barely be considered a whisper.  
  
Tommy looks down and Alex is already drowning without the ocean. He tilts Tommy's jaw back up so they're looking at each other, surprise bouncing between their glances.  
  
"Got a girl?"  
  
Alex blushes furiously and Tommy feels pleased.  
  
"No" the former mumbles, the word like a weight on his tongue.  
  
"Good" Tommy says softly, and they're kissing.  
  
Alex isn't sure how his lips ended up on Tommy's or how Tommy's slender fingers ended up twisting in his brunette locks but he damn if he doesn't give a fuck. Pale digits dig into his scalp and he gasps into Tommy's mouth before letting out a low whine as Tommy gently nips his lower lip.  
  
Something in Alex shifts, and he jumps back suddenly, panting.  
  
Tommy stares at him, unreadable.  
  
"I'm sorry, I just - "  
  
Tommy raises an eyebrow, and Alex stumbles.  
  
"B-been too long s'all" he insists.  
  
To his surprise, Tommy rolls his eyes and laughs.  
  
"Well, then" he drawls, suddenly seizing the collar of Alex's jacket. "I won't look like such an inexperienced git" he says smugly, giving the jacket lapels a yank so his mouth slants back against Alex's, open and hot and needy.  
  
Inexperienced, his ass.  
  
Tommy tilts his head and the kiss deepens, his tongue caressing Alex's tenderly. He swallows his moans and for the briefest of moments there's no war. There's no heavy wool coat on his shoulders and no salt stinging his eyes.  
  
There's Tommy, kissing him.  
  
They gasp when they pull apart, clutching at each other for dear life. Tommy looks up into Alex's eyes and suddenly laughs, leaning forward to rest his head on the taller's chest. Alex laughs too, and the room echoes with the foreign sound.  
  
Tommy's back hits the stiff mattress, and he looks innocently up at Alex, running his tongue across his chapped lips.  
  
"What's wrong, mate?" he asks, the sly gleam in his eyes both unfamiliar and unmistakable.  
  
Alex growls. "Don't be such a fuckin' tease"

* * *

He wakes up to a dent in the bed and a crumpled note and smiles to himself.  
  
Sometimes it's a cold pillow, and sometimes it's a text. But this morning it's a note scribbled with a message about groceries and Alex's coat hanging over the chair.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't love the ending but I really wanted to finish this up and publish it before everything


End file.
